Clive Cussler: Pirate

Sam parted the curtain in their darkened room, watching the road, until he saw a black Mercedes drive past. Fisk. One down, three to go, he thought, dropping the curtain, then returning to where Remi still sat, listening in with her low-tech glass pressed to the wall.

A knock at the door startled them both until he looked out and saw a maid with the complimentary champagne for the newlyweds. He took the bottle, tipped the maid, then closed the door, grateful she didn’t seem to notice he and Remi weren’t the couple who should have been in the room.

He put the ice bucket on the dresser. “Anything?” he mouthed.

She held up her finger a moment, then whispered, “Sounds like they’re discussing who’s going across the street for dinner… Alexandra and Jak are going over to pick it up. Ivan’s staying behind.”

“I like those odds much better.”

“Except…” She listened a moment, then said, “They’re calling their order in.”

Which meant they’d have less time than he’d hoped. At least for the plan he was formulating. Definitely a work in progress, as he thought about what could go wrong. No matter. They’d just have to work faster.

Remi was a quick study, and the moment they heard Alexandra and Jak leave, he went over his plan with her. A lot of luck was going to come into play. Although Remi was armed with her Sig Sauer P938, and Sam his Smith & Wesson, neither of them had foreseen anything beyond checking out a castle or two when they’d set out this morning.

Rescuing hostages had never entered their minds.

Couldn’t be helped now, he thought, as he gave Remi one of the Buck Knives from his backpack. The ultimate goal was to get in and out without any shots fired. If all worked as planned, he’d have Ivan disarmed while Remi freed Nigel.

He nodded toward Remi, who picked up the phone and called the office. “Room 103, please.” She gave him the thumbs-up. “Front desk,” she said into the phone a moment later in her best British accent. “Room service should be right there with your champagne… No, sir. I believe the woman in your party ordered it on her way out. She said something about bringing it by before dinner… It is complimentary, sir. You don’t have to drink it.”

She hung up and shrugged. “He was pretty insistent that they didn’t need it.”

“It’s all we’ve got. Let’s do it.”

Remi pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail, figuring that would be more maid-like. Sam grabbed his backpack, then opened the door. “Remember,” he whispered. “As soon as you have Nigel free, you both go out the window, get to the car, and meet me out front.”

As they left the room, she grabbed the ice bucket with the champagne bottle, stepped out into the hallway, then stood in front of the door. When Sam was in position to the side, she knocked, then looked down so that Ivan would only see the top of her head.

He cracked open the door and peered out. “Yeah?”

“Champagne, sir.”

She held up the bucket.

He opened the door wider. “I told you—”

Sam used the weight of the backpack, ramming it into the door. Ivan stumbled back as Sam leaned against the door, holding him tight. The entry to the room was a four-foot hallway. Remi scrambled past Sam, keeping tight to the wall, before running into the room.

Ivan leaned into the door, trying to push Sam out. Sam braced one foot on the doorframe, but Ivan, using his heavier weight, managed to push back. Sam slipped past just as the door slammed shut. He pivoted, kicking out, sending Ivan back into the corner. When Ivan tried to raise the gun, Sam swung the backpack up, slamming it against Ivan’s hand. The gun flew from Ivan’s grasp as Sam rushed him, using the advantage of his weight and strength in the close quarters of the entry. Ivan swung, hit him in the ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs. Sam was ready. He purposefully fell back against the wall while at the same time bringing his pack up, slamming Ivan in the face.

He ducked as Ivan swung. Ivan’s fist smashed through the plaster, his knuckles bloody. He swore, then turned slightly, drawing back, telegraphing his move.

Sam dropped, then darted to the side, as Ivan slammed his shoulder into the wall. The maneuver trapped Sam in the corner by the door. Ivan turned like a mad bull, his eyes narrowed, his mouth grimacing. “I’ll kill you.”

Before Sam could make a move, Remi cracked the full bottle of champagne on Ivan’s head. He hung there a moment, stunned, and Sam slammed his fist into the man’s jaw, sending him crashing to the ground.

Remi stood there, holding the champagne bottle, a slight smile on her face. “You looked like you could use a hand.”

“Where’s Nigel?” he asked.

“Good question.”

Except for Ivan, the room was empty.

Remi spied his cell phone on the chair and held it up. “This explains things. They knew we were coming.”

“All the more reason to get out of here.” Ivan started to stir. Sam grabbed his backpack and Ivan’s gun. Sam helped Remi out the window before jumping down after her. They moved around toward the north end.

Sam heard the sound of someone running on gravel. He and Remi ran toward the front of the inn as Ivan jumped into the waiting car. The engine revved and tires screeched as Jak sped out of the car park.

Sam saw four people in the car as it drove off, one of them was Nigel.

He and Remi ran to their car, but by the time they pulled out, the BMW was long gone.

“On the one hand,” Remi said, “it was a good rescue operation.”

“Too bad Nigel wasn’t there.”

“We shouldn’t have put him in that position in the first place. At the castle… with all those people — I never thought they’d kidnap him in broad daylight.”

“What’s done is done.”

She turned toward Sam, saying, “It was about the translation. They were talking about it when Fisk arrived. Something about a letter missing.”

“You remember what they said?”

She nodded, her gaze fixed out the windshield. “At least we know where they’re going. Once they figure things out, that is.”

“Where?” Sam asked.

“Nottingham.”

He looked over at her. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“From the words they asked Nigel to translate,” she said. “ Wolf’s den and wolf’s head . Or, more accurately, head of an outlaw wolf .”

“How’d you get Nottingham from that?”

“Because wolf’s head happens to be another name for Robin Hood . So it stands to reason that the other words they were asking about, wolf’s den , would be his home.”

“Guess we’re going to Nottingham,” Sam said.

Remi is absolutely correct,” Lazlo told them the following morning in a Skype call. Outside, the dark gray sky let loose with a sudden downpour, rain beating against the windows. Remi turned up the volume on her tablet, trying to hear what Lazlo was saying. After they’d fled the inn last night, Sam and Remi had driven straight to Nottingham, gotten a hotel suite under a new assumed name, and managed to get a few hours of sleep before making the early-morning call. “Wolf’s Head,” Lazlo continued, “is a name that Robin Hood has been known by. At least in the very early legends. And the missing f fits perfect. Had it been there to begin with, I might have been able to save you the trouble.”

“I’m sure you could have,” Sam said, steering Lazlo back to the point. “About the map ciphers.”

“Right-o. Wolf’s den and Nottingham. It’s brilliant. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it.”